On Friday, May 11, I completed my 2018 Camino, once again safely and with no blisters and no injuries other than a minor knee tweak (which thankfully resolved after one rest day). I am now back in Santiago, volunteering at the Pilgrim Office for two weeks.
I walked 600 miles in 42 days. On a cold, wet, and snowy March 31 I left St. Jean Pied-de-Port, France, crossed the Pyrenees and headed west across northern Spain, averaging 18 miles a day, to reach the Atlantic Ocean at Finisterre, Spain, on a cold and rainy May 11.
The sun burst through the clouds during the last hour of my walk, which felt almost ridiculously symbolic.
That’s the short version. I’ll backtrack and try to sum up the magic of the past few weeks, but if you’re the type who just wants to know how the story ends, you can stop reading here knowing that I made it safely all the way across Spain. On foot. Carrying all my belongings on my back every step of those 600 miles, up & down through three mountain ranges, a wide plateau, two snowstorms, and a LOT of rain & mud. The Camino is a well-groomed, well-marked, and well-supported trail with fairly frequent opportunities for rest & refreshment, and there’s always a warm clean place to stay each night, so it’s not like I was truly roughing it as one would on, say, the Pacific Crest Trail. But still, making it all that way on my own strength & determination is a pretty empowering feeling.
So...yeah. Where to begin? One reason I’ve delayed writing is that I have no idea how to sum up this amazing experience. And I’ve been too busy enjoying it to take the time to document it.
(Just a head’s up: This is a ridiculously long post, strictly for those who enjoy the ride. Or you can just skim the pictures!)
From Astorga to Santiago
The last time I updated you, I was heading into the Cantabrian Mountains outside of Astorga. This marked my entry into the upper northwest region of Spain known as Galicia, which is one of my favorite parts of the Camino. Because of its location along the Atlantic coast, Galicia historically was settled by Celtic tribes, so you see a lot of symbols you might expect to see in Ireland — Celtic knots, witches, etc. The food is different too — less paella, more pulpo (octopus) and shellfish. Galician Spanish (Galego) is quite different, too — a sibling of Portuguese, with O and Os for El and Los, x’s where we might expect j’s, and so on. Also, happily, in Galicia there’s lots of Tarta de Santiago, a delicious almond cake with powdered sugar sprinkled on top outlining the shape of the sword of St. James, another famous symbol of the Camino.
Galicia is also the coolest and rainiest part of Spain, and the mountains feature forests with beautiful, lush forests of pine, eucalyptus, and other trees I couldn’t identify. All the rain during this exceptionally wet Spanish spring has resulted in some pretty spectacular wildflower blooms. After the flat and somewhat featureless meseta (plateau), it was absolutely delightful to be in the mountains again. The uphill ascents are, for the most part, fairly gradual in Galicia, so not overly strenuous, and the scenery along the mountain trail is truly spectacular. There was so much more snow on the surrounding mountains than last year, although the trail itself was snow-free (aside from the freaky snowstorm at O Cebreiro described in my last post).
More than once, I and my fellow pilgrims felt inspired to spin around with arms outstretched, Julie Andrews-style, and bellow (un-self-consciously and at full volume) “The Hills Are Alive With The Sound of Music.” Yes, it was that spectacular — and also, by this point, late in the Camino, most pilgrims are feeling pretty relaxed, confident, wide open, and free as birds, so randomly bursting into song is considered normal and even welcome behavior. (More or less. The French and the Koreans tend to observe this behavior warily.) Everyone I met seemed humbled and grateful to be able to experience the grandeur of these mountain vistas. There were many pilgrims with whom I could not converse, because of the language barrier, but all it took was a gesture towards the scenery, a smile, and a look in the eye, and we knew we were all feeling the same awe and gratitude. My only frustration was that I could not fully capture the grandeur of the scenery on my camera.
Somebody was about to burst into song here. Can you blame her?
All along the Camino in Galicia I kept seeing these fist-sized pods....
...which pop open into this. No idea what they’re called, but they are pretty cool.
Buttercups everywhere! Picture doesn’t do them justice, they are so golden yellow it almost hurts your eyes.
I took my Camino more slowly this year — a full 10 days longer — because I wanted to savor it. But as I neared the city of Santiago de Compostela, the goal destination of most pilgrims, I had to start paying more attention to the calendar to ensure that I had enough time to make the trek out to Finisterre on the Atlantic coast (50 miles beyond Santiago) in time to be back in Santiago by Monday, May 14 to start my volunteer job. Santiago is the traditional spiritual end of the Camino pilgrimage where pilgrims can collect their compostela certificate, but Finisterre is the physical, literal end of the Camino trail.
I took my Camino more slowly this year — a full 10 days longer — because I wanted to savor it. But as I neared the city of Santiago de Compostela, the goal destination of most pilgrims, I had to start paying more attention to the calendar to ensure that I had enough time to make the trek out to Finisterre on the Atlantic coast (50 miles beyond Santiago) in time to be back in Santiago by Monday, May 14 to start my volunteer job. Santiago is the traditional spiritual end of the Camino pilgrimage where pilgrims can collect their compostela certificate, but Finisterre is the physical, literal end of the Camino trail.
Arriving in Santiago is a very joyous, emotional experience. All the various Camino routes across Spain converge in Santiago, and at any given time there are hundreds of people in the streets and in the huge square in front of the massive cathedral, celebrating, hugging, crying, or lying on the cobblestones in exhaustion. It is also a place of reunion, where you are very likely to see people that you met earlier along The Way. One of the true joys of the Camino is that you can walk into a café or church or hostel anywhere along the route, and you are very likely to see a familiar face. In Santiago this is multiplied, since people tend to stay for a few days to rest, sightsee, or pick up souvenirs before heading home.
My last night before Santiago was spent in the charming little village of Ribadiso, which has an ancient Roman bridge over the river. Some of you know my affinity for cows, so you can imagine how excited I was to see this beautiful black-and-white cow roaming freely on the grounds of the hostel:
This was the view out the window next to my bed in the Ribadiso hostel:
For my trek into Santiago, I wanted to set myself a challenge and see if I could make it 27 miles in one day. By this point in my Camino, after nearly five weeks of daily treks, I was feeling pretty strong, and the knee tweak was but a twinge, easily managed with a brace and ibuprofen.
(Side note: Everything is so much cheaper in Spain. You can buy prescription-strength ibuprofen here, 600mg tablets, over the counter. A box of 48 costs about $1.50. An American ex-pat living in Spain told me he regularly buys his mother’s medications here and mails them to her. A bottle of her prescription Rx that he can buy over the counter here for $3 costs $300 per bottle in the US. But don’t let’s get started on American healthcare costs. Everyone I’ve spoken with on the Camino is horrified to hear what I am paying for my stupid high-deductible Obamacare policy.)
Ahem. Back to the narrative.
Monday, May 7: I got up early and was out on the Camino before sunrise (not as big a deal as it might seem, for those of you who know I am not a morning person — the sun doesn’t rise until about 8:15 this time of year in Spain, and it stays light until 10pm). The forecast called for the warmest day of this Camino, high 70s, so I wanted to take advantage of the morning chill.
All day as I walked, I kept telling myself I was going to make those 27 miles. It’s a distance most pilgrims cover in two days. My previous personal best on this Camino was 21 miles in one day. It was very warm & bright, not my favorite weather (I know, I’m a weirdo), but I was buoyed by my commitment to make it all the way to Santiago that day.
In Galicia, the beloved concrete Camino way-markers, which stand like helpful little beacons pointing the way at many forks in the road, also include little kilometer plates indicating the remaining distance to Santiago. Every time I passed a way-marker, I would feel a surge of excitement as the kilometer count got smaller & smaller.
Early in my Camino, I had decided to dedicate each day’s walk to family members or friends (including each and every one of you on my email list). I would place a small stone or wildflower on the Camino way-markers, which also serve as impromptu shrines. Often you’d see a laminated photo tucked under a stone, placed in memory of a loved one who had passed away. For me these way-markers were sort of like beads on a rosary, and no matter how distracted I was by conversation or my own crowded thoughts, seeing a way-marker would remind me to send a blessing to that day’s honoree(s).
Now, with the added kilometer countdown, the way-markers became even more significant.
In an echo of my first day on the Camino, five long weeks earlier, I kept encouraging myself whenever my feet got sore or I felt my energy flag as the day got warmer: You can do this! Five more kilometers to the next town, and you can stop and get some iced tea. At one rest stop, where I had stripped off my shoes and socks to dry in the sun, some passing pilgrims handed me an ice cream cone — they had just bought a box in the last town and had one extra. The Camino always provides!
18km outside of Santiago...
As I walked, I reflected once again how blessed I felt that I had gotten no blisters and only had sustained this very minor knee injury in all these weeks of continuous walking on sometimes quite challenging terrain. I’d met so many pilgrims, young and old, who had to delay or stop their Caminos because of blisters, tendinitis, shin splints, Achilles heel problems, mysterious leg or foot swellings that wouldn’t go away even after a few days’ rest, or in one truly unfortunate case, a broken ankle. I saw pilgrims with horrifying giant blisters — 7 or 8 on each foot. There is a pretty straightforward science to preventing Camino blisters (comfortable broken-in shoes 1/2 to one size larger, double socks, grease your feet, stop immediately & cool off when you feel a hot spot), but even those who take all the usual precautions sometimes still get them. Some people are just more prone to blisters than others.
I had decided to walk into Santiago alone, although all along the Way I had spent two, three, or four days at a stretch walking with various friends. Although the company of fellow pilgrims was a delight, I loved having hours of walking time to think, or sometimes not think or talk, and just enjoy the incredible natural beauty and peace that the Camino has to offer.
I’ve mentioned before (and this is not an original thought) that the Camino is like a river of people. I felt that so strongly this year, and I learned to dance with the currents as we all moved westward to Santiago.
You’d spend a day or two or three walking with some new friend, sometimes sharing the deepest secrets of your heart or your troubled past, or sometimes just chatting about politics and health insurance, other times having deep philosophical discussions about God and religion, and then the current would shift and you’d part ways. Days or weeks later you might see them again, or hear about them from another pilgrim. The currents would weave and bob as the river carried everyone west. Every farewell was a small sting, but I loved my solitude. There was a constant pull to socialize, especially if I was having a lonely day. Then I’d spend a day or two in company and suddenly feel the urge to be alone again. Quite literally, I went with the flow.
I also reflected on how many ghosts there are on the Camino. I was constantly reminded of Bernie and Maddy from Australia, my dear companions for so much of my 2017 Camino, remembering all the good times, songs, laughter, prayers, and tears we had shared. I sometimes did a double-take when I’d see a pilgrim with a similar hat, walking style, or shirt.
Then there were the ghosts of people I’d met earlier on this Camino but hadn’t seen or heard from in weeks who would suddenly pop up when I least expected them. I thought about all the wonderful people I’d met and all things we had shared.
It seemed that everyone I met was a mirror of some aspect of myself. During the first half of my Camino I kept meeting moms or dads traveling with their 20-something children. Which of course made me reflect on the complex and mysterious relationship I have with my own dear and lovely wild child, currently attending graduate school in China.
(I interrupt this blog to share a delightful picture of Ben feeding birds in China:)
Later, I kept meeting pilgrim after pilgrim in their 50s who had spent decades working in successful but totally unsatisfying business careers, who longed to quit so they could paint, or pursue their passion for music, or do something to feed their creative spirit. (Huh.)
So anyway, I made it! The 27 mile journey took me about 11.5 hours, including rest breaks. I arrived in Santiago around 7pm Monday, May 7.
7pm is a very late arrival time, by Camino standards. By 7pm, the vast majority of pilgrims have already settled into their hostels, done their laundry, and are enjoying a well-deserved meal. Arriving later in the day means you run the risk of finding the hostels full. However, Santiago is a big town (pop. 180,000), and is all about the pilgrim, so there are dozens of lodging opportunities. I wasn’t worried about finding a bed, but I was sad that there were so few pilgrims out on the streets. I walked around the old town, circling the outdoor cafés, certain I’d see a familiar face, but I didn’t. There was no one to take my traditional arrival photo in front of the cathedral, so I took this lame selfie:
I made my way to the Pilgrim Office at the bottom of a long hill to collect my compostela, but was informed that, although the office was still open, they were not accepting any more pilgrims that day. Whaaat!? I had just walked longest walk of my life, and I wanted that certificate! I explained as nicely as I could that I had just walked 43 km and could I pretty please with sugar on top (or a loose Spanish equivalent) get my compostela today, but the guard was adamant. He’d heard it all before (the Pilgrim Office sees about 1,000 pilgrims per day).
No Camino pals ... no compostela ... it was a rather anticlimactic arrival, after the joy of setting myself a challenging goal and reaching it.
Deflated, and suddenly very tired, I trudged back up the steep hill to the center of town, found a hostel, parked my pack, pulled off my shoes, and stretched out on my bunk, sweaty dusty clothes & all. The guy on the next bunk was plugged into his phone, and kept laughing out loud. He pulled out an earbud and apologized for making so much noise. I said No problem, and told him I’d just walked 27 miles in one day, the furthest in my life (just had to share the news with someone). He high-fived me, and we chatted for a few minutes. Turns out he was American, a retired real estate broker from San Diego. After a few minutes he said Hey do you want to go get some dinner? I took a quick shower, then we found a place on a little side street and had a wonderful meal of croquetas and fresh fish, and the ubiquitous Spanish french fries. He insisted on picking up the tab. So I not only got a celebratory meal, but someone else paid for it! The Camino always provides.
The next morning I collected my compostela, meeting several pilgrim pals while waiting in the long line, and had breakfast with one of them. (I picked up the tab, because I believe in paying it forward.) Then I went to the Pilgrim Mass at the beautiful Santiago Cathedral, where I met other Camino pals. Although the mass is in Spanish, there is a nun who sings most of the mass, and she has the voice of an angel. I remembered this same nun from last year, I had spoken with her afterwards and thanked her for sharing her exquisitely beautiful voice. I was happy to hear the music again.
My compostela, with my name in Latin:
Santiago is beautiful...
That night I had another celebratory dinner at the fancy Parador Hotel across from the Cathedral with a group of pilgrim pals. I spent more on that one meal than I spent in a week’s worth of hostel lodging on the Camino, but it was delicious.
The Final Leg: Santiago to Finisterre
The next day I continued my journey for the final 50 mile walk out to Finisterre, a small, rocky peninsula the Atlantic coast, which for centuries was believed to be the literal end of the earth.
The good folks who organize the Camino thoughtfully restarted the kilometer count on the way-markers outside of Santiago for the final push to Finisterre, so you can once again begin the countdown as you make your way to the “end of the earth.”
I did not walk this stretch last year, but instead had taken a bus with my friends Bernie and Maddy on a day trip to Finisterre. We’d stood at the famous zero-kilometer way-marker at the end of the peninsula, and as I watched joyful pilgrims celebrating the end of their long walk, I totally felt like I had cheated by taking the bus to get there. In that moment, I vowed that one day I’d come back and walk every step of the way to the end of this peninsula. Little did I know then that I’d be back so soon!
The three days from Santiago to Finisterre were wonderful. Fewer pilgrims, and the countryside got even more remote and beautiful as I neared the ocean.
Friday, May 11: On my last day, I decided to push even further and walk 29 miles in one day, from Logoso all the way to the lighthouse at Finisterre. I had to be back in Santiago Sunday night to start my volunteer gig the following morning, and I wanted to be able to spend two nights in Finisterre.
It rained pretty steadily all day, which felt like a very fitting ending to this very wet Camino. I didn’t see anyone I knew, but I met some new pilgrims on the way. Still, I chose to be alone as I walked, and reflected on the previous six weeks and all the wonderful experiences I’d had.
I was overwhelmed with gratitude for all the good things that have come my way, not just on this Camino, but in my life. It literally took me a few hours to try and count all my blessings, and I felt like I barely scratched the surface. Truly, my cup runneth over.
And I got even more verklempt when I caught my first view of the Atlantic Ocean.
I stopped for brunch (huevos con beicon) in the pretty coastal town of Cee, and bumped into some friendly pilgrims I’d met the day before. As I set out again, the rain was falling even harder, and somehow I lost the Camino. I wandered around Cee in the rain, getting more and more frustrated. No pilgrims, and none of the locals seemed to know where the Camino trail was. It’s easy to miss the way-markers in the cities, because there are so many visual distractions. I tried to use my phone to navigate, but it was pouring rain and the screen was wet so it wouldn’t respond. I wandered in circles for a while, getting more frustrated, and started to cry. Then I had to laugh, because getting frustrated to the point of tears was such a perfect bookend to my very first day on the Camino when I was feeling lost & alone, crying in the snow in the Pyrenees. In the 600 miles between that day and this one, I had not gotten lost even once.
Finally I found some shelter and was able to use my phone. Easy-peasy — I just needed to basically follow the coastline for the remaining 15 km to Finisterre, Camino or no Camino. I followed the waterfront, and within 10 minutes I found another Camino marker, and calmed down.
The rain slowed down a bit, and I was hopeful I might see a bit of blue sky and maybe even some sun for what I knew would be spectacular views from the end of the peninsula.
Have I mentioned that the Camino always provides? About an hour before I got to Finisterre, the clouds broke and the sun came out.
I walked through the charming little coastal village of Finisterre. I was too excited to stop and look around, I wanted to make my way the final few kilometers out to the end of the peninsula. And finally — there I was ... just one kilometer left to the end of the Camino...
As I ascended the final hill, I set one more intention: I really wanted to see someone I knew so that we could take end-of-Camino pictures of each other, rather than dopey selfies.
Within minutes, I met Lorentz from Australia coming down the hill. We had shared an impromptu picnic lunch on the side of the road the day before. Lorentz was making his way back into town, but immediately volunteered to walk back out to the lighthouse with me and take my pictures. I didn’t even have to ask.
My amazing feet carried me 600 miles in 42 days, and they only complained a little. They rock!
The next day I walked to the beach and put my fabulous feet into the Atlantic Ocean.
That evening, I met up with some other pilgrim pals and we had yet another celebratory dinner. The Camino provided another gift: a rainbow!
The next day I strolled around Finisterre, did my laundry, had a lovely long phone call with Ben in China, and started to ponder a post-Camino existence. It is very unsettling, after six weeks of knowing exactly what you’re supposed to do every day (that is, just get up and walk), to suddenly have to make more detailed plans.
Sunday, May 13 was Mother’s Day. I’d planned to take the mid-day bus back to Santiago, but at the last minute changed my mind and decided to take the later bus so I could walk out to the lighthouse one last time. I was feeling pretty weird about not having any more Camino left to walk, so I figured the 5-mile round trip would be a nice way to spend the day and say goodbye to the Camino.
As I made my way up the hill one last time, I paused to look at the bay, and for some reason glanced behind me. 30 yards down the hill, I saw my friend Siggi from Germany making his way up the hill. (Siggi is one of those 50-something frustrated creatives I mentioned earlier.) We had spent many days walking (and singing) in the snow and the rain along Camino at various times, but the Camino currents had carried us apart several days earlier, around the time I hurt my knee. And now here he was! We hugged like long-lost friends, and I accompanied him to the 0 km marker and took his pictures. It was such a lovely surprise to see a good friend at this symbolic last moment.
Siggi insisted on buying me a celebration lunch at the lighthouse restaurant. It was one of the best meals of the entire Camino — scallops, razor clams, and delicious fresh hot bread. Siggi even convinced me to share some celebratory champagne, which I have not drunk in many years. (I got a little tipsy.)
We made it back down the hill in time for me to catch my bus. I didn’t know if I would see Siggi again, but as fate would have it, we bumped into each other again a few days later in Santiago, the night before he returned home.
And so my Camino ended, and another adventure, being a Pilgrim Office volunteer, began the next day. I’ll fill you in on that in another post.
If you’ve made it this far, congratulations, and thank you for reading. I feel like I’ve only skimmed the surface of all the experiences I’ve had, but I hope this gives you a flavor of the incredible journey that the Camino can be.
